


One Step Behind

by the_sun_is_a_deadly_laser



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bathroom Sex, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, Manipulation, Regret, Rehabilitation, Self-Loathing, Torture, hook-ups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sun_is_a_deadly_laser/pseuds/the_sun_is_a_deadly_laser
Summary: Owen was supposed to be dead. He knew that. Curt's stupid banana peel and stupid plan. So when he woke up in a blinding white room, he was confused, to say the least.Unable to move and scared, Owen had to try and figure out what the hell was going on. Chimera, whatever that was, had saved him after Agent Curt Mega had left him to die, or so he was told.After almost two horrible years of learning to walk and getting back into shape, he was given a mask and told him he was to be called The Deadliest Man Alive.When he found himself torturing Curt, he... he was mad.How dare Curt leave him behind? How dare he not look for him? If Curt had 'died,' Owen would've never stopped searching. He thought they were partners. He thought they cared about each other.Well.Apparently, he was wrong.
Relationships: Agent Curt Mega & Tatiana Slozhno, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	1. My Knees Gave Out. And My Spine. I'm Paralyzed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we'll see how this goes bc i haven't read anything about this ship I'm going in blind

Owen squinted as a bright light was shined in his face. He moved his head to the side and tried to lift up his hand to shield his eyes. His arm wouldn't come. His eyes snapped open and he lifted his head to see his arm, unrestrained, at his side. He tried again. Nothing. 

Why wasn't his arm moving?

Wait. 

Hold on, where was he? 

He looked around. It looked like a hospital room. No windows, blinding white, and a door that could only be opened by a key card. Owen could do that. He got up. 

He got up. 

He got _up._

He couldn't get up. 

"Hey!" he yelled, his voice croaky. It felt like he hadn't spoken in weeks. His throat was dry. He swallowed and tried again. "Hello?" 

Someone opened the door and he tried to look as intimidating as possible while being paralyzed from the neck down. They were wearing a mask. Owen barely got a glimpse of them before they left and closed the door. 

"Hey! _Hey!_ Oi, what the _hell_ is going on? I swear, I-" 

He was about to make a threat, but he couldn't even _move._ He was completely helpless.

_Helpless._

He'd always been able to come up with a plan under pressure, but he couldn't even flip someone off. 

He closed his eyes and tried to move. Anything. A finger. A toe. _Anything._

"Come on," he gritted out, "come _on."_

The door opened again and a woman with a binder came in. 

"Who the _hell_ are you?" he spat.

She smiled at him. Her long, braided hair was pulled into a big bun on the top of her head. 

"Hello, Agent Owen Carvour," she said with a Scottish accent. "I am Doctor Bruis. I've been looking after you for weeks." 

He clenched his jaw as his blood ran cold. "Weeks?" 

"Yes, weeks," Doctor Bruis. "After your fall at the Rusian Weapons Facility, you were left to die." 

_Left to die._

"No," he said, his voice still rough. 

"Oh, you must be parched. Excuse me, could we please have some water in here?" 

The door opened quickly and the nurse that had walked in earlier came fully into view with a glass of water. While his eyes desperately followed the water, his mind was still reeling with the doctor had said. 

Curt had left him to die. 

Wait. 

It was because of Curt's banana peel that he had slipped on in the first place. That was a very Curt thing to do. But Curt wouldn't leave him behind. They cared about each other. 

The nurse lifted up his head and led the glass to his mouth. 

As Owen drank desperately, his eyes pricked with tears. After months of meeting in secret, months of hiding, months of stolen whispers and hotel rooms, Curt's voice in his ear, holding him close, telling him he loved him, was all of that a lie? That couldn't've been. Right?

Curt wouldn't... he wouldn't do that to him. 

He started coughing once he had finished the water. The nurse left and he composed himself. The doctor's smile was as pleasant as ever. 

"Curt wouldn't leave me," he said firmly. "He wouldn't." 

Her smile faded to a small, sad one. She opened her binder and pulled out an iPad. 

"We managed to save some footage from that night," she said, pulling something up. "One moment, please." 

She turned around the iPad and pressed play. 

The footage was there. He saw himself slip and fall backward. Curt didn't even reach for him. He only stood there for a moment before turning around and running away. And then the bomb went off. 

Owen let his head fall back on his pillow, willing the tears away. 

"I'm sorry, Owen," said Doctor Bruis said quietly. 

"No matter," Owen said tightly, hating the tremor in his voice. "Why am I here? How did you get me out? What do you want? Does anyone know where I am, or do they all think I'm dead?" 

"Well, you're here because we saved you. We got you out because a support beam fell over you and was caught by a ledge, shielding you from any more wreckage. Upon cleanup, you were found and we brought you here. We would like to employ you. We realize this may be hard with your current physical state, but we still fully plan to rehabilitate you. No one knows where you are and your government thinks you're deceased. 

"Now, I'm sure your next question will be something along the lines of _'Who are_ we?' Well, you are in a secret underground facility of Chimera. Chimera is, well, we develop... a _security_ network." 

"Why do you want _my_ help?" he growled. 

"You're easily the best in the world," Doctor Bruis said, fully convinced. "You just had an incompetent partner." 

Anger spiked through Owen's body and he started saying, "He's not incompetent!"

But Curt had left him for dead. He had saved his own ass and was responsible for what had happened to Owen. 

So he shut his mouth. 

"Well, Owen, what do you think?" she asked. 

He stared at her. "And what the _hell_ makes you think that I'd help you?" 

Doctor Bruis's smile turned cruel. "Well. Our medical technology is _far_ more advanced than anywhere in the world. Without our help, you'll die. It's thanks to our help that you're still breathing. So, either help us or _die."_

"What makes you think I'm afraid of death?" he said, raising an eyebrow. 

She sneered. "Emilia Mega, Guadalupe." 

_Oh, no._

"Curt Mega, Brooklyn, drinking himself to death in a bar. Cynthia Houston, New York, New York. Need I continue?" 

_"Fine,"_ he forced out. "You sadistic _bitch."_

"Ooh, feisty," she said, her smile back to the pleasant one she came in with, "that's good. You'll need a fighting spirit to be able to walk again." 

She stood up. 

"Why, you _little-"_

"Ah, ah, ah!" she teased, holding up her finger, "Save that anger for your rehab." 

He bit the inside of his lip and cursed her in his head. She sent him a wink and sauntered out of his room. 

Owen let his head hit his pillow. 

_"Damn it!"_ he bellowed. 

\---

Sweat poured down his face as he held up most of his body weight with his arms, between two bars, attempting, once again, to 'walk' to the other side. He cursed as his arms gave out and he fell painfully to the floor, his elbows hitting the bars on the way down, making him hiss in pain. 

"Come on, Owen," Doctor Bruis said from her chair, sounding bored. "Once more." 

"Easier said than done!" he shot back. "Love, you didn't get goddamn _paralyzed."_

"Owen," she said, annoyed, "you're doing brilliantly. In the past seven months, you've regained your arms and hands! And your torso. It's truly amazing to see you thrive under our care. You just need to begin walking, and then the _real_ work begins!" 

"Sadist," he reminded her. 

She rolled her eyes. "Owen. Leena, Carter, help him up." 

Leena and Carter picked him up by his armpits (he couldn't wait until he could punch everyone in this underground hellhole), and he grabbed the bars again. Doctor Bruis got up and stood at the end of the bars. 

"Let's go, Owen," she taunted. "I know how much you hate me. Come on. Come and get me. Or will you continue to be _weak_ and _pitiful?_ Yes, come on!" 

Owen hadn't even noticed that he had started moving toward her until he felt the familiar stabs of pain in his upper arms. 

"You're _nothing."_

He got closer. 

"Wow, look at you! You took a _step._ Isn't this an _accomplishment."_

Sarcasm was dripping off every word as she smiled at him with sparkling dark eyes and shining white teeth. 

"Only a couple more steps! Come on, you weakling!" 

Sweating, breathing heavily, his arms shaking, his legs barely carrying his weight, wanting more than anything to strangle Doctor Bruis, he came closer and closer, closer to her smug, annoying face, she stepped backward, just out of his reach. 

He ran out of bar to hold and was about to fall over, but his anger toward her, toward Curt, toward his life, toward where he was, toward himself, gave him the strength to push himself. He took two steps without the bar, which was just enough to get him within arm's reach of Doctor Bruis, he fell. Using his momentum, he curled his hand into a fist and it connected with her cheekbone. 

"Oh!" she cried out as she held her face and he fell to the floor. "You-" 

"Oh, you have no _idea_ how _long_ I've wanted to do that!" he laughed from the floor. "Now that's what I call _motivation!"_

"I could _kill_ you right here and now!" 

"Oh, but you wouldn't!" he yelled. "Because your superior or _whoever_ wants to turn me into a killing machine! You have no power! They sent you to look after me because they had nothing better to do with you!" 

"I am the woman who came up with the technology to save your life!" she screamed. "You would be dead without me!" 

"Oh, boo hoo!" Owen groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "You think I care?" 

She opened her mouth and almost said something, but she stopped herself. She stepped back, straightened her coat, and corrected her posture.

"Leena. Carter. Help Mr. Carvour to his room. I'll meet with him later." 

With that, she walked out of the room. Leena and Carter lifted him into his wheelchair. 

"I got her good, didn't I?" he asked gleefully. 

Leena snorted. "Yeah, you did." 

"Leena, shut up," Carter hissed. "Security cameras." 

"I didn't say anything incriminating!" she protested. "It's a fact! He got in a solid punch." 

"I did. Do you agree?" 

They both looked at Carter. He sighed. 

"Yeah," he gave in. "It was a good punch." 

"See, that wasn't so hard! Was it, love?" 

"I'm gonna be fired," he whined. 

"Fingers crossed," Owen grinned. 

\---

Months later, Owen was walking steadily on a treadmill. 

"Okay. Are you ready to ramp up the speed?" Doctor Bruis asked. 

Owen hummed. "Are we thinking about a light jog or a brisk walk?" 

Doctor Bruis rolled her eyes. "We'll see how we feel." 

Owen had yet to jog. It had been over a year and all he could do without falling flat on his face was a quick walk. 

Over the course of about fifteen minutes, Owen was at his maximum speed. But he thought he could go further. 

"Go up." 

She frowned. "Are you sure?" 

He nodded. "Yes." 

"Okay," she sighed. "One second. Carter! Leena! Get in here!" 

The doors opened and the two of them walked in. 

"Be ready to catch him when he falls." 

"'When?'" he mocked. "Please, I could run in my sleep!" 

"In your dreams, maybe," Leena laughed. 

"Many a time, love. Many a time." 

"Shut it and jog, Carvour." 

"Yes, ma'am," he said, shimming his shoulders. "You know I love it when you get all-" 

"Oh, be quiet," she laughed. "We both know you're gay." 

"That doesn't mean I wouldn't sleep with a woman," he pointed out.

Making eye contact, she pressed the button to make the mat under him go faster and that took his attention off of trying to rial her up. 

It was hard. 

His legs hurt, he was sweating, he had to use his arms to support him, which he hadn't had to do in weeks. Owen didn't know how much more he could take. He went for as long as he could until he had to yell, 

"Stop!" 

Doctor Bruis did stop, which was nice; usually, she watched him struggle for a couple of minutes. Leena took his arm and helped him sit on the bench. He sat there for a while, panting. 

"You did good," Doctor Bruis commended. "I didn't expect you to be able to do that for at least another week." 

"Well," he said, still out of breath, "you'll find out that I like to make things harder for myself than they necessarily need to be." 

_Think we can do it in five?_

_Make it four._

_Atta' boy! Three it is._

He closed his eyes. Curt. 

Not his ex-lover, but the reason he was in this hospital in the first place. Not the man who had held him close and told him he loved him. Not the man who kissed him soundly, like he knew that everything was going to be okay. 

Not the one Owen thought about every night when he first arrived. Not the one he'd be thinking about tonight. 

Curt, who had betrayed him. Curt, who had, well, to Curt's knowledge, _killed_ him. 

Curt, who had left him for dead. 

Curt, who broke his heart. 

Curt, who had kissed him first.

Curt, who held his hand under the table at meetings. 

Curt, who knew Owen inside and out, who loved him and cared for him, who knew how to touch him to make him _feel-_

No. 

That Curt was gone. That Curt died when he had turned his back on Owen in that warehouse. 

Owen didn't care. He didn't love him anymore. He wanted to hurt him. To make him pay. 

If Owen Carvour 'died' at Curt Mega's hand, Curt Mega was going to die by his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls validate me, i'm going out on a limb


	2. The Deadliest Man Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owen is touch starved bc yk underground for like two years so he hooks up with a ton of people bc (as an asexual) I hear that things like that happen

"How about... the bandit king?" 

Owen covered his mouth and stared at Leena, who had just suggested that name to him. Cackling silently, she keeled over, her face red with laughter. 

"Yeah, Owen," Cater said unsteadily, clearly trying hard not to laugh. "How about the bandit king?" 

"Let me get this straight, yeah? I'm about to go outside for the first time in almost _two years_ and you want me to call myself the bandit king?" 

Leena and Carter burst out laughing. 

"What am I supposed to say to people?" Owen asked. He made his voice low and gravely. "You've just made yourself an enemy of... the _Bandit_ King." 

Carter had tears in his eyes as Leena pounded the table weakly with her fist. Owen let himself laugh with them. 

The door suddenly opened and Doctor Bruis, or, as he'd recently come to know her, Mairi, walked in. 

"Ah, Mairi," he said as steadily as he could. "Welcome!" 

"Owen," she said coldly. 

After he had figured out her name by seducing the girl who worked in records and stealing her personal ones, she didn't like him much. That was fine. He didn't like her either. 

"Oh, come on," he prodded. "Don't be so... _bitter."_

She looked ready to murder him because her name meant _bitter_ in Scottish Gaelic. Doctor Mairi Bruis slammed a folder down on the table where Owen, Leena, and Carter were sitting. She sat down and opened it. 

"Since you've made a full recovery, we've decided to give you a mission." 

He leaned forward. He'd _missed_ this. 

"Yes?" he asked, sounding more eager than he'd meant to. He'd have to change that. He needed to be able to play a part fully and turn off his emotions. 

She slid a photo to him. Inspecting it, he found a middle-aged woman in a crowd. It was grainy. He could work with that. 

"We need you to kill her." 

He glanced up. "Why?" 

Mairi pressed her lips into a thin line. "You don't need to know. You just need to do the job." 

He slid the photo back to her. "Ah, you see, love, that's where we disagree." 

"Oh?" 

She sounded dangerous and he could tell that Carter and Leena were scared for him, but he didn't care. 

"I _will_ know why I'm doing something," he said carefully. "I don't kill blindly. I'll need a whole case report and a _reason."_

"Owen Carvour," she hissed, "you will do this job." 

He set his jaw and leaned back, ready to jump up and fight if need be.

"No, I won't," he responded cooly. 

She slammed her fist onto the metal table, which made Leena and Carter jump, but Owen just narrowed his eyes. Mairi took a breath. 

"Okay," she said, her voice controlled but angry, which made Owen grin, "I cannot tell you why. How about- ah, màthair... how about I tell you about someone you care about? What they've been up to?" 

Owen clenched his hands into fists under the table. He didn't know what to say. Who did he even care about anymore?

Mairi looked at him as she said into her watch, "What is Curt Mega doing right now?" 

Owen choked on his tongue as he tried to say, "I don't care." 

Because he didn't. He didn't care about Curt Mega or what he was doing. Well, he did care. 

Because he was going to kill him. He was going to kill Curt Mega. 

The response to Mairi's question came through her earpiece. She thanked whoever said it and looked straight at him, interlacing her fingers in front of her on the table. 

"Curt Mega is having sex with another man in a bathroom in the back of a bar," she said cooly. 

Owen's blunt nails cut into his palm and he knew that he was shaking slightly. 

_I don't care about him, I don't care about him, I don't care about him._

"If you think you can contact him or _anyone_ when you're away from this complex, you're _sorely_ mistaken." 

Owen frowned at her, still shaking, still telling himself that Curt Mega was the scum of the earth. 

"What'd you mean, love?" 

"You're microchipped," she said, as though she was commenting on the weather. "We'll be listening to everything you say and hear, wherever you go, we'll always know. If you think you can escape that, you're wrong. While you'd be a huge asset to the team, the microchip is also a bomb and we _will_ terminate you if you try to leave." 

Owen forced a laugh. "So, it's a cult." 

Mairi rolled her eyes as Leena laughed into her hand. "If that's how you'd like to think about it, sure. Chimera is a cult." 

Owen winked at Carter. "Told you so." 

Carter grinned. "You did." 

Mairi stood up. "Come with me, Owen." 

"To where?" 

"You need a disguise," she said simply. "You're internationally recognized by every government." 

He tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Thank you, ma'am." 

She ignored him. "Come on." 

\---

"How's the mask feeling, Owen?" Mairi asked through his earpiece. 

"Excuse you," he said, "I think you're supposed to call me the Deadliest Man Alive." 

"No." 

"I won't respond unless you do." 

Silence. 

And then, 

"...Fine. Deadliest Man Alive, how's your mask feeling?"

"Just _dandy,_ thank you."

"Sure. Go kill that woman and report back. We'll give you work to do from there." 

"Consider it done." 

"It's not." 

He rolled his eyes and didn't respond. Instead, he inhaled real air, closed his eyes, and savored the feeling of the sun on his skin. It had been too long. After standing at a bus stop for almost an hour, starting to feel alive again, he actually got on a bus and went into the city with a mission: 

To get absolutely paralytic. 

He got off at his stop and walked straight into a pub, where he sat down and ordered himself four shots of vodka. 

"Rough day?" asked the barkeep, a man about his age with blond hair and brown eyes. 

Owen snorted. "Try two _years."_

"I get that, mate," he sighed as he poured Owen's drinks. "At least there's sex, am I right?" he joked. 

Owen caught the meaning behind the joke and said lowly, "Yeah, love. At least there's sex." 

The barkeep slid him his shots and, with a seductive smile, said, "On the house." 

Owen picked one up and grinned at him. "Cheers." 

He downed it while holding eye contact. 

Thirty minutes later, they were kissing and the man, his name was Simon, had his hand down Owen's pants. It was over quickly for Owen because it had been two years since he'd been touched, but he returned the favor for Simon. 

When he left, he felt a little better. Well, he wanted to. Curt was off having sex in a bar bathroom just like him, but it wasn't with each other like it often was. 

Owen got on the tube and sat down. And then he pounded his fist onto his thigh, angry at himself, at Simon, at Curt. At Doctor Mairi Bruis. At Chimera. He gritted his teeth and looked up. 

He was angry. 

At the world, at himself, at everybody. He held onto that anger as he killed the woman, Morgan Brown. He his killings turned fun for him. Instead of a quick neck break or shot to the head, he... started torturing people. 

And he _liked_ it. 

If Owen from three years ago could see what he had become... no. Owen from three years ago had Curt. Owen from three years ago _trusted_ Curt. Trusted him to never leave him and always be there for him. Because he _promised._ Curt _promised._

He became internationally known all over the world in six months because of how many people he killed. He didn't even remember their names or faces. All the deaths blurred together. They didn't matter. 

No one knew his name. They knew him as Chimera wanted people to know him: the Deadliest Man Alive. 

He even caught the attention of Cynthia Housten, which had him laughing right after he killed the men that she had sent after him. 

He laughed so hard that he fell to his knees and tears were streaming down his face. 

When Owen caught his breath, he started sobbing. He wrapped his arms around himself, prayed for someone, _anyone_ to come and touch him, hold him, see him, and be there for him. 

But he was alone. 

Alone in a warehouse at 4:47 AM, surrounded by dead bodies, that _he'd_ killed, sent by someone he used to work with and quite liked. 

Owen screamed. 

He yelled up at the sky, cursing everything that had happened, cursing Curt and A.S.S. and Chimera and himself. 

He hated himself _so much._

Owen didn't deserve to be happy. He didn't deserve to live anything else but the hell that he was. 

He cried so hard he threw up. 

He cried so hard that he thought he was going to pass out. He couldn't breathe. 

So he ran. He didn't know where or how long, but he collapsed and woke up almost a day later in a field in rural India. 

From there on out, he didn't' feel anything. The only time he felt something was when he was making someone else bleed and scream. 

It wasn't a good feeling, but it was something. 

So he chased it. 

Before he knew it, his kill count was in the thousands and he didn't ask questions when a new case was sent his way. 

Owen from four years ago would be appalled. 

\---

"Hey- sorry I'm late, guys, I-" 

"The bomb. _Now."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew learning Scottish Gaelic would pay off eventually
> 
> also look who's having a severe downward spiral and I'm the one making it happen


	3. Waving Down The Barrel of a Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got too distracted watching this scene and then i watched the rest of the musical

"I'm so sorry, it's my anniversary and I had to stop by my wife's _favorite_ bakery-" 

"Sergio," Owen said coldly. "Our business." 

"Oh, yeah. Of course. One bomb, comin' up!" 

Christ, this man was annoying. 

"Oh, but, uh, real quick, would you mind signing something for my nephew, Marco?" 

Owen stared at him. What the _hell_ was this man talking about? 

"Sergio." 

"I'm sorry. He would just be so stoked if he found out that I just did business with the Deadliest Man Alive- and company. And it's just-" 

"Sergio!" Owen yelled. Sergio looked scared. He walked over to him slowly. "Yeah, sure, let's just make it quick." 

"Oh, great, thank you so much-" 

As he signed the card and made it out to Marco, he heard one of the people that Chimera sent with him say that they had killed just as many people as him. And then there was a gunshot. The other person that came with him was dead.

"Well. Just tied it up, haven't I?"

His blood ran cold. When they came closer, he stabbed them in the neck and they fell to the ground. 

"There can be only one, love," he said quietly. 

"Ay, dios mio! There are bad guys, my man, and then there are bad guys, my _man!"_

Owen turned to Sergio, who had somehow not been captured by the authorities. He was an absolute moron. Maybe that was why he hadn't been caught. They thought he was too dumb to sell bombs. 

He was so dumb he was a genius. 

Owen shook his head. "The bomb. Just give me the bomb." 

"Yessir, Mr. Deadliest Man Alive, sir. One super strong, massive impact, incredibly deadly bomb. Hey, do you want a pastry?" 

"Hm? Oh, yeah, 'course. Thanks." 

Sergio handed him a creme puff and he was just taking a bite when, 

"FREEZE! Your hands in the air!" 

Before Owen could react, Sergio yelled, 

"Okay, okay! I got an insurance policy on the bomb, just don't touch those baked goods, alright?" 

Yeah, Sergio was definitely in the right line of work. 

"That was quick," Owen commented, his hands up. 

The redhead with the gun and Russian accent said, "Shut your mouth!" 

Owen didn't care about that, because just as she started talking, someone spoke from behind him. His voice made Owen's mind go blank. 

"Iayyyyy- second that motion." 

Owen turned around, his eyes wide, and saw Curtis goddamn Mega waving at the Russian agent. 

"You," he growled, his voice almost breaking. Why did he feel like he was going to cry? 

He was facing the man that he was going to kill. The man he was going to tear apart. The man who left him for dead. The man who- who- who... 

"Is that Agent Curt Mega?" Sergio exclaimed, ecstatic. "Wow, Jesus, man! That is a mangy lady thickler." 

His beard? It was horrible. 

"I can't believe this," Sergio continued. "The most famous spy in the world busting _my_ arms deal. Hey, would you mind signing something for me-?"

"We haven't got time for this," Owen said commandingly before grabbing Curt's gun, seeing the slight twitch on the left side of his mouth, the sign that he was going to shoot. 

Curt shot five times as Owen moved the gun back and forth, disrupting all his targets. Curt was out of practice. Owen grabbed the gun from him and almost hesitated as he turned the gun around and shot him in the chest. 

But the gun didn't go off. The mag was empty. 

Owen's body exhaled. _Oh, thank god._

So he threw Curt's empty gun at him and ran away. Just before he ran out of sight, he turned and said, "This ain't over between you and me." 

And then he ran away. 

Like a coward. 

He collapsed against the wall outside, breathing like he'd run three miles. And his breathing only quickened. Soon, he was hyperventilating against the side of an abandoned building. 

Curt Mega hurt him. 

Curt Mega left him behind. 

Curt Mega _killed_ him. 

So why was the only thing Owen wanted was for Curt to come out and hold him? 

The doors banged open, which scared the living shite out of Owen. He pushed himself behind some shipping containers and covered his mouth with his hand. He saw Sergio run past him and he exhaled shakily. He was okay. He was going to be okay. 

He was going to kill Curt Mega. 

He sat there for what felt like hours as he got his breathing under control. Just as he had gotten up and was walking away, the doors of the warehouse opened and someone walked out. 

He turned around. 

Owen knew he couldn't fully be seen. It was nighttime. The most Curt could see was his silhouette, but he could see all of Curt. 

Curt stopped and stared at him. He stared right back. 

He looked horrible. 

Too skinny. Too pale. 

And, again, what the hell was that beard? 

Kill him. 

Owen had to kill him.

Shakily, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Curt. It was a straight headshot. Right between the eyes. All he had to do was pull the trigger. 

But Curt was breathing. 

Owen saw the rise and fall of his shoulders. He could imagine hearing his breaths like he used to when they would share a bed for a mission. He clenched his jaw. His eyes stung. His hand began to shake uncontrollably. 

His arm dropped. 

And then Owen turned on his heel and walked away, the pavement blurry before him. He covered his mouth with his hand. He had just been the closest to Curt Mega than he had in four years and he turned to jelly. He had killed 1,147 people just as the Deadliest Man Alive. That didn't count who he killed before he was the DMA. When he was Owen. 

Owen Carvour. 

No one had called him that in years. 

He used to be Owen Carvour, an English Agent, one of the best in the world, and his partner was Curt Mega. They were inseparable. Joined at the hip. They trusted each other as soon as they met. 

After three years of working together, after a mission, back at the hotel room, Curt had grabbed his hand as he was walking away. He had turned around. The look in Curt's eyes made his mouth go dry. After almost thirty seconds, Curt pulled him in and kissed him. 

That was when Owen was gone. 

He had denied his feelings for Curt for years, but after that kiss, they couldn't stop. They met up when they didn't have to. They met in secret. The filthy words whispered in Owen's ear all those years ago still made him shudder. 

But he wasn't Owen Carvour. 

He was the Deadliest Man Alive. 

Owen Carvour died that night. 

May he rot in hell. 

\---

The Deadliest Man Alive was sitting on his bed in his hotel room, mindlessly watching daytime television. His watch, though, yelled at him, which made him jump and instinctually, he grabbed his gun. 

"Carvour!" 

"Bloody hell!" he cursed, throwing his gun down on the bed again. "Give a man a warning, Mairi!"

"No," she said shortly. "We have a new mission for you." 

He sighed. "What is it?" 

"Van Nazi," she said, her voice staticky. 

Owen sat up. "Van Nazi?" he repeated. "That's the stupidest name I've ever heard." 

"I know. You will be working for him now." 

"...okay." 

"There'll be a plane ticket at the front counter tomorrow. You're going to Monte Carlo." 

"Okay. Who's the target?" 

"Your ex," she said emotionlessly. "Mega." 

Owen was frozen. 

"Will you be able to do that?" 

He swallowed. "Yes." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm v excited about this fic. do you guys like it?


	4. Nazis... Are They That Bad?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> monte carlo!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys 
> 
> depression is a bitch

The Russian spy that had been there the night that Owen had seen for the first time in years, her name was Tatiana and she was downstairs with Curt Mega, his target, at the high roller's table. 

Owen remembered that. He remembered when he and Curt would play games, just for fun and to pass the time. Curt was _so_ bad at blackjack and Owen was amazing at it. He must've won... well, about three thousand pounds from Curt in personal bets over the years. He smirked, leaning back in his chair, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. 

Taking a breath, he closed his eyes. He was going to kill Curt Mega. He was going to watch the light leave his eyes. He was going to... hmm. 

"Now," he muttered, "how should I do it?" 

He had started muttering somewhat recently after Mairi had screamed at him to talk more so they could monitor him more closely. 

He had the chain, he could strangle him. There was the classic gun, but he wanted Curt to suffer. He wanted him to be desperate, to make him writhe and- okay, no, that's what he liked doing in the bedroom. Christ, he needed to get laid. He'd go to the pub after he did this job and find a similarly desperate man. His eyes still closed, he heard Tatiana's voice outside the door. 

The Deadliest Man Alive, no longer Owen, Owen was gone, dead, stood up quickly and fumbled for his gun. His hands were shaking. The door started opening and he barely had time to get in front of it to hold the gun up to Curt's head. Curt's eyes went wide. 

"You," he said dumbly. 

"Hello, love," the Deadliest Man Alive said with as much malice as he could muster, compensating for the fact that his hands were shaking and he was hot, too hot, under his mask. "Have a seat, Mega." 

With his arms up, Curt walked over to a chair and sat down heavily. He scoffed as Owen- as the Deadliest Man Alive tied him up. 

"How've you been, Mr. _Deadliest Man?"_ he jabbed.

He ignored his ex, walking out of the door, leaving Tatiana and Curt alone. As soon as he closed the door, he collapsed against the opposite wall, holding himself up with his hands. 

_Curt._

This cocky, arrogant, beautiful bastard was still... a cocky, arrogant bastard. At least he shaved that awful beard. Owen had imagined feeling it between his thighs multiple times and it was never something that he _liked,_ but it was... Curt. 

He swallowed and stood up straight, walking to his temporary boss's room and walking in. 

"Everybody's waiting for you-" 

"YES!" Von Nazi yelled loudly, making the Deadliest Man Alive pause. "Waiting for _you_ to, uh, button up my jacket!" 

The Deadliest Man Alive stared at him for a second. "...Alright," he said eventually, walking forward and beginning to button up the dumbass's jacket. 

"We got away with it!" Von Nazi whispered gleefully. 

"Got away with what?" he asked. 

He was suddenly being pushed away. 

"Nothing!" Von Nazi yelled. "I can do this myself." 

The Deadliest Man left the room without another word, too confused to stay there anymore. He went back into the room that Curt and Tatiana were in. When he opened the door, Curt was speaking, but it didn't look like Tatiana had spoken back yet. Their attention turned to him as he closed the door. 

He saw the cold, calculating look in Curt's bright hazel eyes. He hadn't changed. 

Curt's lips curled up into a sneer at the sight of him. Owen remembered that smirk. He saw it during their first mission together when their friendly rivalry started. Curt would do it to him after they got together (was that the right term? Maybe) and Owen would always go over and kiss it off of him. Shit, was he seriously swooning right now? 

"Where's Von Nazi?" Curt asked innocently, and Owen almost made a joke about how Von Nazi had asked him to button up his jacket. Instead, he walked over to the wall behind Curt- behind _Mega_ and leaned against it, his arms over his chest. Seconds later, Von Nazi burst in. 

Honestly, Owen wasn't even paying attention to what was happening in front of him. He remembered telling Tatiana to not get involved after it was revealed that Von Nazi had played her. He also remembered a couple of Curt's comebacks that made the dumbass "running" the operation (Owen was running it. There was no question about it.). They were pretty funny and he had to bite down a laugh more than once. 

Eventually, they were left alone. 

Curt craned his neck to get a good look at him. 

"What're you going to do to me?" he asked wearily, like he was just tired, not worried. Owen- no, the Deadliest Man Alive grabbed his things and walked over to where CUrt could easily see him. 

"Haven't decided yet," he said bluntly, pulling out a knife. "But I think I'm going to have fun." 

Curt scoffed. "Of course you are, you sadist." 

_I taught you that._

The Deadliest Man Alive winked at him. "Only the best for you, love." 

"Ha! I'm sure." 

The Deadliest Man Alive narrowed his eyes. 

"What happened three years ago?" he inquired softly. For the first time, he saw fear flash across Curt's face for a split second before going away. 

"What do you mean?" Curt asked breezily. 

The Deadliest Man Alive bit his tongue. This might be the only chance he'd ever have to see if Curt regretted what he did. "Owen Carvour," The Deadliest Man Alive said sourly. "You killed him. Is that why you quit?" 

Curt's jaw was clenched. Owen could see the anger and hurt in his eyes. "It's my fault he's dead," Curt said, somewhat evenly. He looked better than Owen did in this situation. 

The Deadliest Man alive crouched down in front of him. "Do you regret it?" he hissed. 

Curt's eye twitched. "Every single day." 

This made Owen falter for a moment before going back into his Deadliest Man Alive character. There was no way that Curt meant that. He traced the knife gently across Curt's fingers as he straightened up. 

"Do you," he leaned down to spit the next words in Curt's ear, _"miss_ him?" 

Curt didn't answer right away, and the Deadliest Man Alive could tell from the shake in Curt's shoulders that he was fighting tears. 

Did he... miss Owen? 

Should Owen break Curt out? Just like he's done dozens of times before because Curt's an idiot, but Curt's his idiot- 

He slapped Curt hard on the back of the head. 

"Do you miss him?!" he screamed, desperate, scared. 

"Have you ever killed your best friend?!" Curt yelled, staring back at him with shining eyes. Owen stared back. "Have you ever lost your second half? Oh, no, you haven't. You're a psychopath. You can't even feel happiness, you sadist." 

_I taught you that word._

Curt looked away, forcing Owen to walk around to where Curt was facing. 

With Curt looking up at him, his jaw set in determination, Owen laughed. He laughed so hard he had to turn away for a second. 

"I forgot how irritating you are!" he giggled. _"Jesus,_ Mega!" 

His ex looked confused. 

_Oh, shit._

Owen punched him hard in the face. 

"Ow," Curt said a couple of seconds later as Owen shook out his hand. "And here I was, thinking we were having a good conversation." 

Owen stared at him. This man could keep his cool under any situation, make friends anywhere, could make ladies fall for him left and right- 

He punched Curt again. 

This man couldn't play blackjack for the life of him and was barely a passible poker player. 

And again. 

This absolute _douche_ in front of him was a terrible agent. He was so bad that he was one of the best out there. 

Once more. 

Curt fucking Mega had the most beautiful smile and contagious laugh.

He got in a good punch that cut open his cheek. 

_Mega-_ he had the prettiest eyes and the broadest shoulders. 

This one was sure to leave him with a black eye- 

He was the kindest, funniest man that Owen had ever met, and he...

Owen stopped, out of breath, and stared down at Curt. 

In front of him, Curt was bloody and bruised. He looked up at Owen and grinned. He fucking _grinned._

"I hate you," Owen growled. "I hate you, Curt Mega."

"Well, I think I rather like you, so-" 

Owen grabbed his face and yanked him forward. Just before he pressed his lips to Curt's, he stopped. He stayed there, less than an inch away. Curt seemed frozen, just like him. They stayed there for who knows how long before Owen pulled away violently and stared at him, tears in his eyes. Curt looked shocked. 

They stared at each other. 

"Who _are_ you?" Curt whispered, like he didn't mean to say it out loud. 

Owen was ready to open his mouth, to pull off his mask, start crying and pray that Curt didn't hate him. 

That didn't even make sense. He should be the one that hated Curt. 

He opened his mouth. 

Then his head exploded in pain and he didn't remember anything else. But when he woke up, Curt was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's cool to refer to Owen and the Deadliest Man Alive as two different people because in this story, they are


End file.
